Accustomed
by Shella
Summary: ch5of? AU, SLASH – Jedi are forbidden to love, but ObiWan and Anakin are gradually getting used to the idea that they can’t help it. OxA, AxP, QxO.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Accustomed (1?)

Author: Shella

Rating: M.

Pairing(s): Obi-Wan / Anakin, Anakin / Padme, past Qui-Gon / Obi-Wan.

Beta: None.

Spoilers: Episodes I, II, & III (in an A/U fashion).

Disclaimer: Star Wars etc. are property of George Lucas. I'm hoping that pointing this out will stop people noticing copyright theft.

Summary: A/U, SLASH – Jedi are forbidden to love, but Obi-Wan and Anakin are gradually getting used to the idea that they can't help it. O/A, A/P, Q/O.

Chapter One

Obi-Wan Kenobi craned his neck until the muscles protested, but could see no sign of his padawan, nor hint of any approach. A moment's concentration on the Force divulged no hints as to the wayward apprentice's location. Obi-Wan sighed.

"Late, as usual," he muttered, and gripped his lightsaber more firmly. It was taking some effort to control his body and prevent his palms from sweating.

The creature facing him tilted its head, the better to examine him with its compound eyes. The dusky gold sun glinted off its gleaming exoskeleton. As though asking a question, it clicked its mandibles three times in quick succession and rustled its shining wings.

"No, I'm afraid my position hasn't changed on that matter," Obi-Wan said to it.

It made a 'scree' sound that was echoed by several of its companions, and took a shuffling step closer. The insect-like creatures hadn't encountered a Jedi, or even a human, before, and didn't quite know what to make of Obi-Wan Kenobi or his lightsaber. This had bought some valuable time for him, which appeared to be rapidly running out.

"You won't like the taste of me," he informed them. "I've been told by a reliable source that I'm quite dour and stringy." Admittedly, Anakin hadn't bitten many people during sparring matches, but the boy was actively carnivorous and could compare his master to a great variety of animal meats.

He spared a second's concentration to send a searching thought down the link he shared with his padawan, and another to listen for a reply: nothing.

"That Anakin…" he muttered to himself. The creature in front of him twitched its antennae and advanced another step, venturing within two metres of Obi-Wan's glowing lightsaber.

He figured his chances of fighting his way out of this swarm of insects to be about 30-70 against. As repetitive and monotonous as it was becoming, he was rather urgently hoping Anakin would arrive soon and save him. It had happened so often they were growing rather accustomed to the routine: go on a mission, split up, Obi-Wan gets into trouble, Anakin comes to the rescue. Obi-Wan had started to wonder why he even bothered going off by himself anymore.

"Because that would mean admitting I can't get by without him," he answered himself. "He's arrogant enough as it is without _confirming_ all his grand ideas."

He sensed it a second before it happened – one of the creatures behind him took a bold step forward and swiped at his back with a claw. Obi-Wan met the attacking limb with his lightsaber, and a horrible high-pitched scream assaulted his ears, drilling right into his skull and along every bone in his head. The creature staggered backwards on five legs, shrieking in outrage and pain. Obi-Wan sympathised.

This was obviously taken by the insects as the signal for attack – the strange being that had stumbled into their midst was hostile, a threat, and must be eliminated. With a chorus of painfully shrill cries, they leapt forward.

But even as Obi-Wan fought back, attempting to clear his head of auditory-induced agony, desperately trying to rise above it and let the Force flow to guide him, the insects' vanguard was smashed aside. A new sound intruded on Obi-Wan's strained senses – canine growls and barks. He blinked, trying to focus watering eyes, but could only register vague impressions of dark blurry shapes before he was snatched off his feet.

The next thing he knew he was thundering along on the back of some quadruped, arms fastened around a familiar waist.

"About time you got here!" he shouted. Although his mouth was right by Anakin's ear, the speed of their passage snatched his words from his mouth and flung them away.

"What?" came the answering yell.

Obi-Wan shook his head. He couldn't concentrate over the shrieks of the insect creatures, still ringing in his skull like electricity was running through his marrow. He dropped his forehead to Anakin's shoulder and swore in a fashion most unbecoming of a Jedi Master.

Something tapped him on the head. He ignored it. The tap was repeated, more insistently, and he looked up in time to get Anakin's thumb in his eye.

"Ouch!"

"Take these!" his padawan called. Blinking, eye streaming from its digital contact and the insect screams, Obi-Wan realised Anakin was holding something for him to take. Earplugs.

"You're a lifesaver," he yelled, then noticed the matching set blocking Anakin's own ears. Shrugging, he gripped with one hand and manoeuvred the plugs into place. Immediately they shut out the creatures' shrill noises, and with them the pain.

No longer crippled, Obi-Wan looked around to get his bearings. He and Anakin were mounted on some kind of over-sized canine, apparently of the same variety as the pack that had fought off the insect creatures. It wasn't particularly hairy or bulky, but had an underfed whip-like quality to its muscles. They were bounding – or galloping, the gait seemed to be something in between – through the dry scrub that covered much of Kellryn's main continent, and the sun seemed less dusky and more like warm gilt now that he was reunited with Anakin, and therefore out of danger.

"How's the mission?" he bellowed in Anakin's ear. The teenager kept his eyes in front, but turned his head so he could yell into Obi-Wan's ear in turn.

"I got close," he shouted, "but she spotted me and ran away."

"We'll try again," Obi-Wan responded, and Anakin nodded and tugged on the left rein to turn their mount east.

The sun was behind them now, it being late afternoon of the thirty-eight-hour Kellrynian day, and it burnt in a fierce line along Obi-Wan's back. He glanced as best he could over his own shoulder, but the sting in his muscles told him what he couldn't visually confirm – he'd sustained a wound, shallow but long, starting on one shoulderblade and finishing in the small of his back. The cloth of his tunic flapped against the open lips of the cut, making Obi-Wan's breath hitch.

Anakin shouted something.

"What?"

Seemingly irritated, Anakin held the reins in one hand so he could remove his earplugs. Obi-Wan did the same, discovering with relief that they had left the insect creatures behind.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"I asked if you'd been hurt," Anakin replied. His voice sounded hoarse from shouting.

"A cut, on my back." Considering that he was the Master and Anakin the apprentice, Obi-Wan often felt as though he were the one in Anakin's charge rather than the reverse. This was one of those times when the teenager was just too capable and competent for his own good. He was racing towards his Mastery in every aspect, except one.

"I'll leave you at the cave entrance," Anakin was saying now. "You're injured, you shouldn't do anything strenuous."

Obi-Wan was annoyed. "It's superficial," he informed him. "It won't slow me down."

"You might strain it or hurt yourself further," Anakin argued. "Sheena's a tough fighter."

"I know my own limits, padawan," Obi-Wan said, in what he hoped was a this-is-the-final-word kind of voice.

Anakin was silent for a minute, glowering resentfully. The argument was not won yet. Obi-Wan sighed; the boy had such potential, if only he'd learn to control his emotions. His difficulties with this particular stumbling block were nothing short of spectacular, and it chafed Obi-Wan to hold him back for this reason. But without mental discipline, physical and spiritual gifts were two-edged swords, and he wouldn't release Anakin if there were a chance of the teenager cutting himself or someone else.

"I'd rather you stayed behind, Master," Anakin said, causing Obi-Wan to blink in surprise. This was a more mature style than usual.

"I appreciate the concern," he said slowly, "but I will be fine, Anakin. If I feel weak or in excessive pain," he added, "I promise to inform you, and let you continue alone to bring in the renegade."

Anakin appeared to debate the point anew internally, before grudgingly nodding.

Obi-Wan sighed in relief. It seemed like every time he and Anakin spoke lately it was a contest of wills, and he emerged from even the most casual conversations as though he'd just fought a battle.

"How far is it to the cave?" he asked, to take both his and Anakin's minds off the disagreement.

"About eight klicks," Anakin answered. He seemed as glad as Obi-Wan for the change of topic. "She's about fifty metres underground I guess, which means we have to walk almost a klick of the cave system." He presented this information in a slightly inquiring tone of voice: will you be okay to walk that far?

Obi-Wan closed his eyes for a moment, subduing the surge of annoyance this provoked. "Can we fit three people on this … animal?" he asked. He was curious about the terrain and condition of the caves, but refused to ask in case Anakin thought his injury was worrying him.

"Yep," Anakin responded, "but it'll take a bit longer. We'll have to give it more water, too." He spoke shortly, and Obi-Wan knew Anakin realised what he hadn't asked, and why.

They knew each other so well. And they got along brilliantly. Most of the time.

"You should have let me dress it then and there," Anakin persisted.

"We've been over this," Obi-Wan said wearily. "Sheeana was making a break for it just as we reached the cave. There was less than no time to stop to draw breath or water the dog, let alone treat a little cut." He winced in spite of himself as Anakin, finished with washing it, began smearing gel onto the pared flesh.

"Little wound," his padawan repeated. "Master, you are the Master of understatement."

"And you are the Master of insensitive wound-dressing," Obi-Wan retorted. "Extend your senses, Anakin! You should have the sensitivity to be able to tell what's too rough."

"Hold still," instructed Anakin, ignoring the instruction – or acknowledging and storing it without acting on it. He placed a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, his thumb brushing the base of the neck and fingers splayed over the bare collarbone. Quickly, efficiently, he prodded a dissolving antiseptic tablet into the top end of the gash, where the insect's claw had first caught and the wound was deepest.

Obi-Wan inhaled sharply – whether it was at the blinding hot-cold sensation the tablet caused or the way Anakin was touching his bare skin, he wasn't sure.

"Yeah, they feel strange," Anakin agreed. "Like mint."

"Mint is a flavour," Obi-Wan corrected absently. He wondered when Anakin would remove his hands – they were both pressed against his skin now, one on his shoulder, the other on his side just above the waist. His own were in his lap, deliberately not gripping his tunic tensely.

"It's a sensation, too," Anakin said. His voice seemed a bit dreamy. Stillness fell between them.

Obi-Wan broke the silence, trying to keep his voice even. It came out unintentionally husky. "You should probably apply the bandages now."

Anakin brushed his thumb over the base of Obi-Wan's neck. "There's a bruise here," he commented, employing his ability to conveniently ignore things he deemed unimportant. This was one of his more annoying traits, and Obi-Wan seized on this emotion.

"Anakin, don't do—_that!_" His reprimand became a gasp and his back arched spasmodically when he felt lips – _Anakin's lips!_ – touching the base of his neck. Before he had time to pull away something else contacted his skin, something wet and soft. "Anakin – is that – your tongue?"

"Yes," said Anakin pleasantly, and kissed him again. "Does it feel better?"

"Better than what? Your mouth?"

"The bruise. I'm kissing it better. Is it working?"

Obi-Wan spun around, his heart racing in his ears, and stared at someone who he was quite convinced had stolen Anakin's voice and appearance and was using them to do extremely rude and disturbing things to his Master. "Who are you and what have you done with Anakin Skywalker?" he demanded.

A frown crossed the teenager's face. "Don't do this, Master," he said. "Don't run away from me. You can't pretend you don't know exactly what's going on and exactly what I'm asking."

Oh, Force protect us—"What's happened?" Obi-Wan asked, serious but agitated. "Why are you doing this, Anakin?"

There were a thousand queries implicit in those two questions. Obi-Wan and Anakin had acknowledged the seeds of attraction between them years ago, when Anakin was barely of a legal age, but nothing had happened. The Code forbade love, but simple romantic interest was an unavoidable fact of life and the Jedi Order was realistic about this. Neither was it unknown or entirely taboo for the closeness of a Master-Padawan bond to evolve into something more; provided both parties were in consent and their involvement didn't hinder their duties, it was, while not quite accepted, at least tolerated.

Nevertheless an unspoken agreement had been made between Anakin and Obi-Wan, that there was something in the way they interacted and the way they dealt with each other that held more serious implications. The power struggle, their silent fight for dominance, insinuated that a romantic relationship would never be smooth sailing and, whoever ended up 'in charge' (so to speak), it could disrupt the already fragile balance of authority. On the other hand, when they worked as a team there was something utterly compelling and unstoppable about their partnership, the way they understood one another and got along perfectly. This – perhaps even more sinister than the other danger – suggested that if they acted on their attraction, a connection could grow between them far stronger than either intended or even wanted.

With these two considerations in mind, a silent consensus had been reached that they would not explore that possibility. Even risk-hardy (some, such as Obi-Wan, would say foolhardy) Anakin respected the dangerous currents with which such a path was fraught.

Or so it had seemed. At some point, Anakin had evidently changed his mind.

"You know all the reasons why not," Obi-Wan stated. "Why, then, do you think we should chance it? What's changed?"

"Nothing important," said Anakin. His hands had been dislodged when Obi-Wan turned to face him, and now rested on his Master's knees. He was regarding him with serious eyes. "It's all still there – everything we both feel, it's the same as it's always been. I've been thinking, though."

"Now, Anakin, we both know that was never your strong suit," Obi-Wan said automatically.

His padawan frowned at him disapprovingly. "I thought," he said deliberately, ignoring Obi-Wan's jibe, "that since I've been getting better at controlling my emotions, we could give it a shot and it wouldn't get out of hand. I've been working very hard," he added, "and I'm sure I could keep my feelings from interfering with our duties. I know I could."

"No, you don't," said Obi-Wan gently. Parts of him were soundly scolding him for turning the boy down, knowing that they could be blindingly happy together, but the stronger part was firm that it was necessary. He took Anakin's face in his hands. "My dear padawan, you know as well as I do that if we started down that path it would lead to much bigger and stronger feelings than either of us can conceive. No amount of self-control could defend against love like that." There – he'd said it. Love. The most dangerous of all emotions. The one they must avoid at all cost. "You don't have that power, Anakin, and neither do I."

Anakin looked like a child who'd tried to protect their sandcastle from the rising tide. On some level, he'd known all along what Obi-Wan's answer would be, but the little boy from Tatooine had still dared to hope. It broke Obi-Wan's heart to have to take that hope apart.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I wish it weren't so."

"I know," Anakin said in a low voice. Driven by pity and his own aching heart, Obi-Wan leant forward and kissed him, a single chaste expression of sadness and fatality. The fervour with which Anakin responded only reiterated what they both knew – that whatever was between them was much too powerful to be released.

"We mustn't regret it," Obi-Wan said.

"There's nothing to regret," Anakin answered, hollowly, "and that makes it worse."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Don't say it."

"I wasn't going to say anything … much."

"You really ought to learn to leash your tongue, padawan."

"Why bother, when you do it for me so well?"

"Are you determined to force me into bringing up the D-word again?"

"I'm not forcing you to do anything."

"Rubbish. You know exactly where this conversation leads, we've had it a thousand times."

"Well then, we can change it so it's not so repetitive."

"We can change it by not having to have it in the first place."

Anakin scowled. Obi-Wan was so logical. The fact that he never gloated about being right, and only rarely said 'I told you so', just made it more annoying that he, in fact, _was_ always right.

"Yes, Master. I'll be more _disciplined_ in future."

Obi-Wan regarded him warily. "That tone of voice always means you're going to sulk for the next hour."

"Or until I save your life again. It works out to about the same thing," Anakin contributed, and was rewarded by Obi-Wan looking away in embarrassment. In the unwary moment, he sidled half a step closer to his master as they walked towards the temple.

"You have all the subtlety of a Wookie, you know that, Anakin?" Obi-Wan remarked at this.

It was a struggle, but Anakin managed to leash his tongue – as in, he determinedly _didn't_ blow a raspberry at him. "...Master Yoda likes Wookies."

Obi-Wan burst out laughing, causing two passing Archivists to blink in surprise at this display of uncontrolled levity from a Jedi Master. As always Anakin was unable to hold back a grin – Obi-Wan rarely laughed like that, but when he did it was infectious. He watched his master out the corner of his eye, noting the way his eyes crinkled up and he seemed to glow, and added the observations to his mental Obi-Wan catalogue. He also took note of the fact that Obi-Wan hadn't moved away when Anakin stepped closer.

Knight Niniane, who lived on their floor, smiled at them as she left the elevator. "Good afternoon Master Kenobi, Skywalker." She held the door, stopping to chat to them.

"Good afternoon, Niniane," Obi-Wan replied. "How are you?"

"Oh, can't complain," she shrugged, and then predictably plunged into gossip. Niniane was always brimming with the latest 'near-factual information', as she called it. "I heard there's been a disagreement on the Council over the state-run orphanages in Murthin – you know, those child labour allegations," she confided. "Master Windu and Master Karyll were sniping at each other all through the last meeting."

"Those two are always disagreeing," Anakin said dismissively. "They're like a pair of banthas fighting over fodder." Niniane giggled.

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan scolded. "A little more decorum, please. If you must disrespect members of the Council, kindly refrain from doing so in public."

"Yes, Master," said Anakin meekly. He then contradicted this by asking Niniane, "So what were the banthas – I mean, _masters_ arguing about?" Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

Niniane had watched their interaction with a smile on her face. Anakin knew Niniane's master had been rather aloof and superior, and she found the banter and intimacy between Obi-Wan and Anakin to be highly amusing. Hence her eagerness to waylay the pair whenever she could – for entertainment.

"Well, Master Windu thinks an internal review by the Murthian government will address the problem," she was explaining now, "but Master Karyll wants to send in a pair of Jedi as arbitrators. She doesn't think their social sector is up to the job."

"Murthin – they had that corruption problem last year, didn't they?" Obi-Wan recalled.

"Yes, that's right," Niniane confirmed. Anakin never understood how his master managed to keep track of seemingly every little shift and development in the galaxy – for someone who disliked politics, he always knew what was going on, and everything relevant to each situation. Niniane sounded duly impressed. "It was a pretty big scandal. The department hasn't done anything major since then."

"I see," said Obi-Wan. "What's the general mind of the Council?"

"It's about three to two in Master Windu's favour. Most of the Councillors prefer to let the Murthian government alone, so they can use this issue to sort out the kinks in the system."

"It's not likely to cause a serious rift though, is it," said Obi-Wan. It was more a statement than a question.

"Oh, no," said Niniane, waving a hand carelessly. "If you ask me, Master Karyll's just spoiling for an argument. She's been under a bit of stress this week, since Knight Bryn was injured – it's put her in a bad mood, being worried about him. It's kind of cute."

"What is?" asked Obi-Wan, but Anakin knew.

"Has she sounded him out yet?" he enquired of Niniane.

She shook her head. "Master Karyll's brave on the battlefield, but she's never been very good at making the moves on a man." She and Anakin shared a grin. Looking between them, Obi-Wan appeared to realise what was going on.

"Master Karyll has feelings for Knight Bryn? For how long?"

"Only since forever," Anakin butted in, before Niniane could answer. "She took over his training when Master Rowan died, remember? And she's held a torch for him ever since then." He grinned at him. "You're not exactly up with the latest, are you Master?"

Obi-Wan gave him a repressive look. "Forgive me my ignorance," he said, in the voice Anakin recognised as his Dry-and-Sarcastic-but-Not-Seriously-Angry voice. He liked this one, it meant he could get away with just a bit more smartarsery.

"You'll have to excuse Master Obi-Wan," he apologised to Niniane, who was giggling again. "His dangerous and traumatic experiences on this mission have driven less important things from his mind."

"Imp," said Obi-Wan, narrowing his eyes. "Please excuse us, Knight Niniane, we really should be getting back to our quarters. I believe Anakin has a mission report to write."

"But master…"

"But nothing. Come on, Anakin."

Niniane's expression was gleeful. "In that case I won't detain you any longer. I'll let you get back to your apartment, for – uh – _mission reports_." She snickered. "I have to admit, that's a new one. You two are so cute." She waved, beginning to back away, and refused to expand on this cryptic statement. "I'll see you later, Master Kenobi, Skywalker."

The elevator doors slid shut behind Anakin as he joined his master, and they began to ascend. The silence between them was comfortable – Anakin casually eyed Obi-Wan's reflection and took note each time their sleeves brushed. He'd had a lot of practice at Obi-Watching, and knew how to keep it subtle and seemingly innocent so the subject wouldn't notice. So far, it seemed to be working.

"Knight Niniane is a friendly girl," said Obi-Wan, seemingly out of the blue.

Anakin blinked as he adjusted to this new subject. "Yeah, I guess she is," he said slowly.

"Full of gossip, without being malicious or subversive," Obi-Wan continued. "For a Knight, she's remarkably well-connected within the Temple, simply because she talks to everyone."

"Uh-huh."

The elevator doors opened. "She thinks we're lovers," said Obi-Wan, and set off down the hall.

Anakin didn't really know what to say to that.

After a moment, his brain remembered to signal his legs that they should move. Aware of but ignoring the unwritten rule that Jedi should, whenever possible, move with dignity, he hurried along the corridor after his master.

"How—?" he began as he caught up, then realised that the rest of the sentence was "—does she know?" and changed topic, "—how do you figure that?"

"She clearly implied that we would be doing things other than a mission report when we got to our quarters. And the tone of her voice when she called us 'cute'," Obi-Wan sounded as though he rather disapproved of the concept of 'cute', "showed that she was referring to 'us' as a couple."

"But we're not a couple," said Anakin automatically, then realised how bitter he sounded. "Sorry. I mean, if she can tell we feel that way about each other even though we're not actually together … well, you know how much of a gossip she is. It'll be all over the Temple in minutes."

"People will question us about it, and won't believe when we say we aren't romantically involved," Obi-Wan predicted, palming open the door to their apartment.

"And when they ask us why not, it'll be difficult to explain," Anakin continued as they entered. "We're obviously incapable of pretending we aren't in – we aren't attracted to each other. But we're supposed to have enough self-discipline so that we wouldn't fall in love if we did get together. It's so complicated!"

"Calm yourself, Anakin," said Obi-Wan.

Frustrated but obedient, Anakin drew a deep breath, then several more when one didn't work. It always took him longer to dispel his emotions into the Force than it did Obi-Wan – Anakin tried to emulate his master, but success was erratic.

He dropped onto the couch and rested his arms along the back, closing his eyes. He heard Obi-Wan settling in his preferred armchair and pictured the weary look on the other Jedi's face. Obi-Wan would sit still for several minutes, lightly meditating to take the edge off his mission-induced weariness, until Anakin got up and began rummaging in the kitchen. They always ate together after getting back from a mission – it was one of the thousand little routines and rituals that had grown up over the years of Anakin's apprenticeship. They would have the next main meal in the dining hall, but for now it was just the two of them. Anakin knew Obi-Wan enjoyed these moments as much as he did, which made him even happier.

"We should probably get started on the mission report," said Obi-Wan, and Anakin felt like he'd been punched.

"What? But what about – about eating?" he demanded.

"If we don't do it now, we'll take an unreasonably long time," said Obi-Wan in a sensible tone of voice, but he wasn't meeting Anakin's eye. "You know they always end up late because we eat before we begin."

"You never used to mind," Anakin retorted. When Obi-Wan still refused to look at him, he realised that his master was now unwilling to spend extra time with him, and felt sick. Between Anakin's foolish proposition the other day and Niniane's blithe assumption that the strength of their attraction meant they were lovers, Obi-Wan had been cowed by consequence.

There was a pause. Anakin became conscious that he had stood up and was facing Obi-Wan in a confrontation posture, hands clenched. The humming of the chrono seemed loud in the uncharacteristic silence, and the afternoon sunlight gilded Obi-Wan's hair but threw his face into shadow.

"Fine," Anakin said at last. "You're right, master, we should get started." He snatched a datapad from the counter and tossed it onto the coffee table with barely-restrained violence.

Obi-Wan's expression was blank as he drew the pad towards him and activated the pen. He said nothing when Anakin threw himself back down on the couch, and was politely formal while they wrote out the report. For Anakin, the distance between them seemed to stretch to a mile with all the things keeping them apart. He felt like he'd never been further away from the man he loved – a gulf separated them, and Anakin couldn't think how to breach it.

But even as he sulked and smouldered to himself, he knew everything wasn't lost. Obi-Wan always said he was stubborn, and Anakin occasionally liked proving his master right. It might take a while to recover his place in Obi-Wan's affection, but he refused to give up. There was just so much to gain.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Obi-Wan had never been so glad for the end of the day. Calemot's seventy-hour rotation meant that, even after several months on-planet to adjust, he was thoroughly exhausted between one sunrise and the next. As the meetings progressed, more tasks rather than fewer came his way, absorbing his time like a sponge absorbing water, so that he was often up just as much during the night as the day. For the last fortnight he had been functioning with three 20-hour shifts each day interspersed by too-short naps. He felt the accumulating fatigue in his bones, and had taken "not much longer, not much longer" as a mantra, to be repeated whenever he felt exhaustion plaguing him.

His latest meeting with Calemot's president had included the heads of a large number of industries and corporations. They had finalised a large-scale economic redistribution – alternative tax schemes, trade agreements, and so forth – and the satisfactory, punctual conclusion was a cause for celebration. Obi-Wan had been invited out for drinks by each party, but politely declined, knowing that he wouldn't last more than an hour. All he wanted was to eat dinner, have a shower and take a well-earned rest.

The chauffeured return to the hotel at which he and Anakin were staying seemed to take an age. Obi-Wan meditated as best he could while the driver negotiated late-night traffic, which despite being thin was dangerous because many of the drivers, and most of the passengers, were hopped up on any number of possibly-legal substances. Young adults congregated outside sixtieth-floor nightclubs, stimulated by the hour and the carnival atmosphere, yelling over the loud music spilling out into the city atmosphere.

Several, for no apparent reason, leant against the barriers and called out to Obi-Wan's aircar as it cruised past. Obi-Wan noticed that one of them bore a striking resemblance to Anakin, and was in the act of forming a stern mental reprimand to send his apprentice when he caught himself.

The driver ignored the catcallers, instead addressing Obi-Wan. "Hey mister, you're from Coruscant, right?"

Obi-Wan blinked his eyes open and surfaced from his light trance. "Yes, that's right."

"I heard it's illegal to have nightclub entrances above the ground floor there, cos they had so many people staggering out blind drunk and falling off the edge." He sounded as though he had thoroughly cleaned up his language for his diplomat passenger.

Obi-Wan had to search his memory – he hadn't been to a club in several years. "In some areas that's the case," he said at length. "I know there were a number of incidents some years ago where that happened. The families of the victims sued the council. They received compensation, and the council pushed through some new building regulations."

"Yeah, they tried that here, too," the driver said. "Didn't work – instead they just got 'em to put in something so that all those places had force fields around their docking stations. Stops the kids from getting to the edge so's they can't fall off."

"That makes sense," Obi-Wan murmured. Despite his best efforts, his eyes were beginning to close of their own accord. He decided he could go without dinner if it meant he would get to bed ten minutes earlier. The endless parade of meetings was taking its toll on his energy levels. He wasn't fond of politics or politicians in the first place – a pity, then, that he appeared to have a considerable flair for diplomacy, which kept him in those circles far too much for his liking. Sometimes it was an absolute chore to be so dutiful.

"Here we are," said the driver, startling Obi-Wan awake. He hadn't spoken loudly or suddenly – what had startled Obi-Wan was that he'd fallen asleep at all. A Jedi should know better.

"I'm as bad as Anakin," he muttered to himself. Aloud he thanked the driver courteously, receiving a cheerful disclaimer (and the very clear thought that the wages for chauffeuring important diplomats were thanks enough), and got out of the aircar.

The cold air of the hotel's hundredth-floor docking station did nothing to soothe Obi-Wan's fatigue, merely pointing out in clearer detail how stiff and tired his joints were and how musty his thought processes. He doubted he had the energy or concentration to cook anything for dinner – the siren call of mattress and blankets was waxing.

When he entered the suite to find Anakin in the middle of preparing his favourite meal, he simply stood and stared for a moment. The capacity for movement seemed to have deserted him; the limit of his abilities was to send a singularly devout prayer of thanks into the Force.

"Good evening, Master," said Anakin nonchalantly. He seemed unaware of the divinity his actions bestowed upon him.

"Anakin, you're an angel," Obi-Wan said.

"Now really, Master, is that the best you can do?" Anakin teased. "I was using _that_ line when I was a kid." He grinned at Obi-Wan.

"Yes, but you actually believed it would work," he pointed out. He didn't quite have the energy to make it a retort as such, his resources being focused on lowering himself into a chair at the kitchen table, but he trusted Anakin would recognise the mood.

"I was ten years old," his padawan said indignantly. "It was years ago!"

"And still the pinnacle of your verbal achievements." Somehow he felt less tired, and less overwhelmed by everything, now that he was with Anakin.

"Fine. If that's the way you're going to be, you can make this meal yourself," Anakin declared, threatening Obi-Wan with a wooden spoon.

"Padawan…"

"Why should I go to all the trouble of making your favourite recipe if you don't appreciate it?"

"I do appreciate it," Obi-Wan said firmly. "I appreciate everything you do. I simply choose whether or not to show it, that's all." He summoned a smirk for his apprentice.

"Really?" Anakin grinned, and turned the heat down on the stove. He returned the spoon to its rightful place and began stirring slowly. "So when we were going through the marsh on Degobar and I pushed you into the water to camouflage your scent, you were grateful that I'd made sure the pterodactyl wouldn't sniff you out?"

Obi-Wan steadfastly refused to be embarrassed by the reminder of an incident entirely too smelly and unpleasant for his taste. "Absolutely. You were looking out for my best interests – what's not to appreciate?"

"Oh." Anakin seemed disappointed by the lack of reaction.

"…After all, it's so rare for you to get it completely right that we have to take our victories where we can get them." At no point had he agreed not to respond in kind, even if the jibe hadn't had its intended effect.

"Master, I'm hurt by your cruel accusation!" Anakin pouted, acknowledging the hit. "My fragile self-confidence is crushed. I'll surely fall into a bottomless pit of depression."

"Your _ego_," Obi-Wan corrected, "is infinitely sturdier than that. You, after all, are the one who believed they could take down an Agathean condor with a stick and a length of vine after it stole his lightsaber."

Anakin went red, and fumbled the plate he was putting on the table in front of Obi-Wan. "I got it eventually," he mumbled.

"Yes, after I passed you _my_ lightsaber," Obi-Wan qualified as he began to eat. "You never give up, never surrender no matter what the odds. It's a quality I admire in you."

The serious compliment seemed to take Anakin by surprise. "Thanks, master," he stammered, glowing with delight. Obi-Wan sensed the praise was having a more positive effect on his padawan than many battle-won accolades – it didn't demand anything from him, didn't reward violence or carry the expectation of more and better in future. It was just one soul speaking to another; for that moment it didn't matter that he was Jedi or soldier – he was himself, and that was enough.

Obi-Wan looked at his plate when Anakin's softly adoring and grateful expression started resonating in his own heart. He poked his food around with a fork, shovelled a portion into his mouth and chewed.

When something occurred to him, he seized on it. "I didn't know you could cook this, Anakin. It's a difficult dish to make."

His apprentice seemed a bit surprised by the sudden change of topic, but rallied quickly. "I taught myself from a cookbook. All the meetings were getting you down, so when I was done with my surveys each day I hunted up some recipes and practiced. This one's the closest I could find to how you said Qui-Gon used to make it," he added.

"It's almost identical," Obi-Wan said. He was pleasantly stunned that Anakin had made such an effort – and remembered such thoughtful details – for him. "Thankyou very much, Anakin, it's wonderful. And it tastes perfect," he made sure to add, taking an extra large mouthful as demonstration.

"Good," said Anakin. Evidently satisfied, he slid into the seat opposite Obi-Wan.

Throughout the meal they engaged in small talk. Anakin restrained his usual enthused, demanding style of conversation in deference to Obi-Wan's tiredness, and the result was pleasant and relaxed. It refreshed Obi-Wan so he decided he did, after all, have the energy to take a shower before going to bed. When he finished the meal Anakin took his plate and cutlery.

"You go freshen up and get some sleep," he directed. "I'll take care of the dishes."

"You cooked, it's only fair that I should clean up," Obi-Wan insisted, although a large part of him had cheered at Anakin's offer. "We share the chores, remember?"

"This is my treat," Anakin said stubbornly. "Go away!"

"Anakin!"

"Sorry, Master. Go away, please?"

Obi-Wan sighed. "Fine. But only because you were so polite about it." He hesitated for a moment, eyes on Anakin as he put the dishes in the rinser. Then, on impulse, he leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "Thankyou," he said, and retreated to the bathroom.

Why in the Force's name did I do that? he demanded of himself as he shucked off his clothes. What in the world possessed me? It was a foolish thing to do, and completely insensitive to Anakin. There was no reason – it wasn't just because I'm tired and less in control of myself. And I wasn't just feeling romantic, remembering the last time Qui-Gon and I ate that together. No … it's something else…

The water burst on his shoulders, steaming hot and drumming with pressure. Obi-Wan plunged his face under the spray; he felt dead nerves come alive and stiff muscles relax instantly. Blood surged through his body, loosening joints, oxygenating limbs, and opening pores.

His mind, however, wasn't as clear.

The last time I felt this good was after my last spar with Anakin, he thought vaguely. It's like I always come alive when I'm with him – he makes me feel more acutely, he brings out my inner, immediate self. I suppose … I suppose you could say he makes me honest.

The sound of the water seemed to fade away for a moment as Obi-Wan focused on the revelation he felt unfolding within him. Honesty – that was what had happened. He kissed Anakin because he wanted to, it was as simple as that. All the factors of the moment – exhaustion dulling his mind, nostalgic recollections, Anakin's perfect gesture – had combined to sweep aside all considerations, negate every reason why not, and all that remained was the fact that Obi-Wan Kenobi was in love with Anakin Skywalker.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan whispered, and already the way he said his padawan's name sounded different to him, "that's it. That's all there is. I love you – I can't help it or ignore it – and it destroys everything."

He was in the shower a long, long time.

Obi-Wan's resolution to pretend the kiss hadn't happened was tested sorely the next morning at breakfast. Anakin was watching every move he made, without even trying to be subtle about it. It was most disconcerting.

He noticed his padawan's scrutiny the second he entered the kitchen – hard not to when he was looking just as intently himself – and his first reaction was mild surprise that Anakin had evidently given up pretending he wasn't incessantly staring at him. He was now displaying the same level of discretion in his observation as Jabba the Hutt at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

And he was doing it deliberately to goad a response, Obi-Wan could tell. Anakin could never leave well enough alone or tell when to drop a subject – not, Obi-Wan had to admit, that he didn't have a perfect right to an explanation. But just because his apprentice was in the right didn't mean he had to like it.

So, telling himself that he was practicing Jedi passivity and knowing he was deluding himself, Obi-Wan called on all his training to ignore Anakin Skywalker.

This was a difficult task. When he chose to be, Anakin was the most intrusive, infuriating and provocative person Obi-Wan had ever met. If he wanted someone to pay attention to him he would hammer away at their silence with outrageous statements and inflammatory questions, impose on their personal space, and generally make a nuisance of himself. He'd learnt how to get under Obi-Wan's skin long ago, and now his master could no longer ignore his padawan than reverse a planet's rotation.

What made it even worse this particular morning was that Anakin wasn't saying a word, wasn't getting in his way. He was just sitting, and staring, until Obi-Wan feared he'd have a nervous breakdown.

Luckily, he had a whole series of top-priority diplomatic meetings to retreat to – for once, he was grateful for the endless round of political quibbles and posturing of Calemot's federal re-shuffle. Anakin's presence was required on a building site on the far side of the island on which the government was based, so the two would be separated for half a local day at least. When Anakin's silent, intense stares grew difficult to beat, Obi-Wan reminded himself of their imminent parting. It helped.

It also made him sad.

It was a testament to the strength of his affection for the boy, Obi-Wan mused as he ate his breakfast, that he could be in an emotionally explosive and perilous situation and still want to be in Anakin's company. Beyond all consequences, beyond all complications and distress, Obi-Wan was happiest when they were together.

Now there was just the small matter of these emotions betraying everything he'd dedicated his life to. If he and Anakin weren't Jedi they would be in one another's arms in a heartbeat – _if_. The Jedi Order was Obi-Wan's first love, and would remain so for as long as he lived and quite likely even afterward.

It just would have been nice if this devotion didn't automatically exclude his second love.

He distracted himself with these thoughts as he cleared the table, trying to brush off the almost scorching attention he sensed from Anakin and utterly failing. He was constantly aware of it, feeling like he might stop in the middle of everything and spontaneously combust. At the very least, he wanted to yell at the top of his lungs. Anakin's scrutiny made him hyper-conscious and uncomfortable in his own skin. He also felt naked, and _that_ was appalling.

He realised that he was lingering at the door of their hotel suite. A million thoughts were crowding in his head, his mouth twitching as it begged to say something, anything. It took large amounts of his rapidly-vanishing self-control not to hurl himself at Anakin and simultaneously punch him and kiss the life out of him, if only to stop that supremely unsettling scrutiny.

"I'll see you sometime this afternoon," he said at length. His voice sounded somewhere between rasping and husky, and mortally embarrassed him.

"Yeah, see you then," said Anakin.

Obi-Wan felt severely, irrationally annoyed. How dare he sound so casual and unconcerned while making Obi-Wan so uncomfortable! It was the height of rudeness.

"I'll probably be back by the fortieth hour," he said considerately, frantically ignoring Anakin's laser-sharp visual examination of him. Get out the door get out the door get out the—"Is there anything in particular you'd like to have for dinner?"

"No, thanks." Flippant shit-stirring son of a—

"All right then. Bye, Anakin," said Obi-Wan, with difficulty, and turned to leave.

"Bye, Master. Love you."

Obi-Wan was halfway out the door when Anakin lazily tossed a couple of word-grenades at him, and staggered as though the explosion had been literal as well as metaphorical. He wrenched the door open, causing the sliding mechanism to groan in protest, and threw himself back into the hall, ready to storm the kitchen.

Anakin wasn't in sight. And while logically Obi-Wan knew he'd only gone to his bedroom or the bathroom and wasn't out of reach, the sight of the empty room hit him square in the chest and he felt utterly crushed and alone.

Blasted kid, he thought dazedly. Dropping a bombshell like that and not even waiting around to endure the fallout—

—Oh. Right.

Point taken.

Obi-Wan made sure to close the door firmly behind him as he left for the meeting. It wasn't that he was worried for Anakin's safety – the boy could look after himself, and had proved it on numerous occasions. But it had become apparent that Anakin could potentially be far more dangerous than Obi-Wan had suspected.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: "Accustomed" is primarily and ultimately Obi-Wan/Anakin. The Anakin/Padme will serve a purpose relating to that pairing in the vein of what's often called a 'spanner in the works', or even a whole toolbox.

Chapter Four

Anakin decided the railyard made him uncomfortable. The air was so filthy he felt like it was coating the inside of his throat and lungs with grime. There were layers of ash and rust on every surface, and the sunlight was reduced to a dull red glare by the haze of smog and pollution that hung over the place. The constant hum of heavy machinery reminded him of similar places on Tatooine, and brought up negative associations that made him dislike the place even more.

He eyed the hollow shell of a burnt-out railcar as he walked past it. It sagged on broken axles and chipped wheels, the windows forming a stark black lattice of twisted metal. It was hard to imagine any passengers in it now, or ever.

He struck out towards the building opposite him, keeping half an eye on the scanner in his hand and half on the terrain in front. The ground was a patchwork of bare dirt and gravel large enough to be labelled stones. Steel tracks crisscrossed the yard like the tangled web of a giant spider – Anakin dizzied himself trying to follow one set.

Obi-Wan was somewhere in here, probably in trouble again. Anakin hadn't heard from him for sixteen and a half minutes, and while they'd set twenty as their deadline he was uneasy. It wasn't that he didn't trust Obi-Wan, exactly – he just didn't have any delusions about his Master being infallible. And he'd gotten comfortable with the idea of protecting him, just like he'd protected Anakin during their early years together. He'd outgrown the idea of Obi-Wan as a father figure (although he'd been good at that, too). Now, he more often saw Obi-Wan as a teacher who was almost a partner.

He was also working on getting Obi-Wan to see that they could be lovers, too, but wasn't making much progress. So for the time being, partners would have to do.

And like all partners, Anakin was concerned about his other half's safety, and not just for the success of the mission (although it would be nice to maintain his faultless success rate). As he scaled a metal staircase up the outside of a building, he told himself he'd wait another minute before contact Obi-Wan and casually checking on him. Well, thirty seconds at least.

Screw it.

"Elf to Red Wing. Elf to Red Wing. Come in, Red Wing."

There was silence from the comm unit. Anakin frowned and glanced about him instinctively. He'd ended up in the older, all but abandoned section of the railyard, and the stillness contrasted unsettlingly with noises of activity in the active areas. He was uneasy.

"Yes, Anakin, I'm here. You don't need to keep using those absurd code names, we're not spies."

Anakin let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, but didn't let on how worried he'd been or how relieved he was now. It wouldn't do to make Obi-Wan think he couldn't control his emotions.

"Are you all right?" he blurted, then wanted to swallow the words back. "I mean, what's your status?"

"I'm fine, Anakin," said Obi-Wan, a distinct reprimand in his voice. "But if you don't learn to stay calm in stressful—"

"I am calm!" Anakin said indignantly and without thinking. Once again his brain caught up with his mouth a moment too late. He missed a step on the staircase and his boot clanged loudly on the rusted metal.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, master," said Anakin, mentally kicking himself. "Just – just took an odd step, that's all."

Politely, Obi-Wan turned the comm unit away, but Anakin could still hear his sigh of exasperation. He counted to three…

"Control yourself, padawan," he said, in perfect time with Obi-Wan and exactly the same tone of voice. There was silence from the comm and Anakin imagined the supremely unamused look on his master's face. He grinned to himself.

"Just continue with your mission, Anakin," said Obi-Wan, and shut off the comm. He never laughed when Anakin teased him – he believed a Jedi should be above such childish and petty amusements, and in accordance with this theme had been getting less tolerant of his padawan's jokes lately. Sometimes Anakin thought Obi-Wan had no sense of humour at all.

When he opened the door at the head of the stairs he found himself in a huge, echoing room filled with giant robots. They weren't of the sleek, aesthetic design favoured in the more cultured areas of Coruscant – some were just arms and claws, others resembled deformed humanoids. All were of a design scheme apparently aimed at giving children nightmares: skeleton ribs, cruel iron jaws and gaping, empty eye sockets were a recurring theme. Naked metal joints, ligaments and pivots of every kind were visible.

If he hadn't been a bold, powerful Jedi, Anakin would have said it gave him the willies.

But there was no power in a dead machine, except what your imagination gave it. He resolved not to let these … constructions … have any power over him.

Obi-Wan would've been proud, Anakin thought, and this helped him feel better.

He cast his eye around the room, making a mental map, before descending the stairs to the floor and venturing across. He kept constant surveillance of the scanner, but it wasn't one hundred percent reliable. He might see the hoard of blue zone before the device sensed it – the crystallised powder, an extremely expensive and powerful adrenal drug, possessed a strong ultramarine glow, hence its street name. If its container wasn't properly sealed, some light always escaped.

Anakin kept his eyes peeled as he grid-searched the room, but didn't spot so much as a hint of blue glow. His scanner was unresponsive, only twitching at a deposit of mildly radioactive irellia shavings that interfered with its functions, so he judged it a miss and headed for the door.

As his hand touched the lever, a ripple in the Force warned him. He ducked and rolled sideways just in time to avoid a pair of slug bullets.

Reacting on instinct, he made for the nearest cover – a robot seemingly designed as a cross between a cockroach and octopus. It looked sturdy enough to buy him a few minutes. He kept his head low as he shuffled along, trying to shield himself as much as possible and guess the origin of the slugs based on their trajectory. He wasn't eager to tackle them with his lightsaber if he could help it – those kinds of slugs reacted nastily if they came into contact with energy swords.

There was a pause in the firing. Anakin strained his ears in the sudden silence; he thought he heard something move … light, quick … on two legs … not much noise of fabric…

A voice called out, high and wispy but clearly audible in the vast workshop. "Human! Don't bother fighting, I've got you covered. Hand over the blue zone and I won't kill you!"

Anakin paused. A dozen thoughts raced through his mind, only half-formed due to their speed. They thought … but weren't they the ones … who else knew it was here? He cleared his throat. "Why should I trust you?" he yelled back, stalling for time.

He heard muttered curses in a language full of hissing, and there was a moment's silence before his attacker spoke. "I don't care about _you_, I just want the blue zone."

"That's no reason for me to believe you," Anakin called back. He concentrated on the thoughts he sensed from the other person – they felt cold somehow, almost reptilian, and he got the impression his attacker was androgynous, but tending towards female. It, or rather she was impatient and edgy. She _didn't_ want to kill him, but was anxious to complete her assignment and go – home? Back to base?

"I promise," she said grudgingly, "not to kill you. I swear by … by the Horns of the Great Progenitor. Now hand over the damn blue zone!"

Anakin was silent for a moment in surprise. The religion of Iguennakan, the Great Progenitor, was an obscure sect from the far western arm of the Republic – it originated from a planet near the Obsidian Oort Cloud, if he remembered right. But he couldn't recall which planet, or what races lived there, and couldn't use the knowledge to decipher his attacker's identity.

Obi-Wan would know. Anakin turned on his comm unit, but a round of slug bullets greeted the buzz of its activation.

"No comm!" his assailant screeched, pronounced hissing and an unfamiliar accent in her voice. "Just hand over the blue zone and go! I mean it, human … I said no comm!" she screamed as Anakin tried again, and unloaded another round of slugs into his shelter.

Anakin swore and clapped his hand to his mouth. An angry red welt was forming on his wrist – it had been pressed against the robot's shell when the heated slugs hit, and the metal nearly melted through. Anakin attempted to push the pain away, rise above it using the Force, but wasn't entirely successful.

_Anakin, are you all right? I'm sensing that you're in pain._

_Obi-Wan!_ Startled that their master-padawan bond was strong enough for Obi-Wan to sense physical pain from such a distance, Anakin was a moment transmitting his reply. _I'm – well, I guess I'm fine._

Obi-Wan's thoughts clearly conveyed his doubt. _You 'guess' you're 'fine'? Somehow I get the feeling I should probably drop in._

_No, no, I can handle it. Everything's under control_, Anakin lied.

_Nice try, padawan. Where are you?_

Anakin grumbled to himself about interfering busybody Jedi masters for a minute before grudgingly sending his location. The connection closed with Obi-Wan promising a swift arrival, and Anakin was back with the mystery attacker.

"Well?" she demanded, and Anakin sensed she was getting stressed. "Hurry up! I'm not interested in shooting you, so just cough up the blue zone already!"

"I don't think so," Anakin replied. He cast himself in the character of a search-and-retrieve hunter like his assailant seemed to be. "My boss'll be really pissed if I come back without it. He'll probably break so many bones I'll be in traction for the rest of my life!"

"Hah!" she snorted without mirth. "That's nothing! Ever hear of the Slave's Smile? They cut all the ligaments in your body, starting with the ones on your jaw so you can't talk or scream in agony. That's why it's called the Slave's Smile, cos slaves aren't supposed to speak, just obey." She seemed to shudder at the thought. "That's what's waiting for _me_ if I fail. Traction? That's kid's stuff!" She made a noise somewhere between a hiss and a rattle, which clearly expressed disdain.

"That sounds painful," Anakin said. He was twitching involuntarily just thinking about it.

"Not as painful as what I'll do to you if you don't hand over the blue zone!" she snarled. "Get a move on, human! Just open the frigging trapdoor!"

Trapdoor? Anakin thought. I didn't see any trapdoor… "How do you know it's in the cellar?" he shouted across the room, trying to bluff.

"What do you think I am, stupid?" she snapped. "I saw them covering it up with irellia shavings so the radioactive field would confuse everyone's scanners. I won't go near it myself, but you don't get a choice!" She punctuated the threat with another round from her slug gun.

Anakin hadn't flinched at the warning, as he was going over his mental map of the room and reviewing what he remembered of the box in question. Yes, he decided, it'd be possible to hide blue zone under there – most scanners sensitive to the drug would also react to the radioactive field generated by the irellia shavings. And most people wouldn't think to dig deeper for an alternative source to the easily-explained behaviour of their equipment. Anakin Skywalker, you're six kinds of idiot.

"But if I rummage around in irellia shavings I'll get radiation poisoning!" he protested in character, still thinking furiously.

"Hey, if you do it quickly you'll probably survive. Not that it makes any difference. Look at it this way – you do it, and risk feeling a bit sick, or you don't do it, and I shoot you. Your call."

"I have a third option," said a familiar voice, and there was the sizzle and hum of a lightsaber being activated. "I disarm you…" Anakin's attacker gave a shriek, and there was the sound of a gun – or two halves of a gun – falling to the floor. "…And you kindly answer a few questions for us."

Grinning, Anakin leapt to his feet and ran out from behind his robot shield. He just about flew across the room while Obi-Wan put handcuffs on the attacker, and took the stairs three at a time.

"Good timing, Master," he said, stopping beside him. Out of the corner of his eye he noted that his assailant, although humanoid, more closely resembled a lizard, with silver-grey scales and narrow, slit-like pupils. However, most of his attention was on Obi-Wan.

"You would have been fine," said his master. He seemed to almost disapprove of Anakin's levity, given the situation.

"Really? Then why did you come to help?"

"Because you sounded like you were in real trouble." Obi-Wan cast him a stern look and Anakin hastily reclaimed the hand he'd placed in the small of his master's back. "But you weren't, and now our search has been delayed." He didn't need to say he was annoyed – the set of his shoulders and the tone of his thoughts informed Anakin of this fact unequivocally.

He rallied his composure. "Oh, I don't think that'll be a problem," Anakin said reassuringly. "You know I haven't failed a mission yet."

Obi-Wan scrutinised him. They were exactly the same height, and although six-point-two centimetres separated their bodies (Anakin was very good at visual measurements) their faces seemed much closer together. Anakin felt random parts of his body and mind turn to mist and float away.

His master, however, seemed to be immune. "All right, where are they?" he asked, deadpan.

Vaguely annoyed, Anakin pointed. From this angle they could all clearly see the robust wooden freight box containing the irellia shavings, with its painted-on arrow pointing downwards to the trapdoor and the blue zone beneath.

Obi-Wan nodded as if it were obvious, and took out and activated his comm unit. "Master Kaleide?"

Anakin could hear the reply, slightly distorted but understandable. "Yes, Kenobi? What do you have to report?"

"The blue zone is in a warehouse on the older side of the railyard."

"Well done," said the Jedi who'd given them the mission to find the blue zone. "Send your location, please."

"Sending location now." Obi-Wan tapped a few keys on the unit and waited for the signal to be sent. He seemed to have forgotten he had company; Anakin and his attacker both waited silently, despite being responsible for the mission's success and a captive, respectively.

"Location confirmed," came the master's voice. "Anything else?"

"It's in the warehouse cellar, under a box of irellia shavings," said Obi-Wan. Rather than sounding like he'd just remembered, he gave the impression of having known all along that Master Kaleide would ask that exact question. Sometimes Anakin thought his master was the wisest and most powerful Jedi in the galaxy. Sometimes.

When he was ignoring Anakin's achievements and hard work, such beliefs were less inclined to suggest themselves.

"Right. We'll tell the retrieval crew. They should be there in about twenty minutes, I guess." There was a sound from the comm that suggested Master Kaleide was shuffling bits of paper. "Wait for them in your current location. Is Padawan Skywalker with you?"

"Yes, he's here." Obi-Wan didn't so much as glance around. Anakin privately thought he could have wandered off and gone exploring (or stripped off and danced a jig) and Obi-Wan wouldn't notice – his master had rare moments where his vaunted observation skills went right out the window. Such as not noticing, or maybe just not acknowledging, the inevitability of falling in love with Anakin Skywalker.

"Post him outside your building so the retrieval crew will see him," said Master Kaleide.

"Should I take a couple of signal flares?" Anakin muttered under his breath.

"We have a captive, too," Obi-Wan was saying into the comm, and either didn't hear him or ignored him. "A Demascan cornered Anakin. She was armed with a slug gun and had also been assigned to retrieve the blue zone."

"Understood," said Master Kaleide, and Anakin wondered if he was imagining the hint of disapproval in his voice. He wished Obi-Wan hadn't phrased it like that. Getting cornered by a mere slug gun wasn't the most impressive thing a Jedi could do.

Obi-Wan deactivated the comm and turned to Anakin. "Did you hear that?"

"Yes." Anakin was satisfied with how neutral his voice came out.

"I think the north side of the building would be best." Then, as Anakin turned to leave, he added, "Good work, Anakin."

He only paused for a moment. Without looking, he said, "Thankyou, master," and kept walking. Too little, too late.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

It had been three whole days since Anakin had flirted with him, and Obi-Wan wasn't sure whether to be relieved or wary. Perhaps his padawan had taken the (many, many) hints Obi-Wan had given him and stopped; perhaps he was lulling him into a false sense of security while planning a new attack. Anakin wasn't the best strategist, but he did possess a certain amount of unpredictability.

So Obi-Wan was quietly observant as he and Anakin completed the series of raids for blue zone. He took extra note of everything Anakin said, how he behaved, and any other changes in his attitude or habits.

He'd gotten rather accustomed to Anakin's flirting. For weeks now Anakin had been putting innuendoes in every possible place, and even some that Obi-Wan would havedeemed _im_possible. He'd taken to deliberately walking around their apartment half-dressed or with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist (Obi-Wan had to admit he had no complaints about that). And he'd seized all opportunities to touch his master, whether casually, like a clap on the shoulder, or more intimately, like a possessive hand in the small of the back.

At first Obi-Wan had been alarmed by this assault, and had spent upwards of a week as skittish as a young colt whenever Anakin was nearby – which, given that they were master and padawan, was nearly all the time, and very bad for his nerves. But gradually, as Anakin showed no signs of stopping or even toning down, Obi-Wan had adapted, until it no longer disturbed him. Flirting had, somehow, become a standard part of their interaction.

Not that Obi-Wan missed it now that it was gone. He was glad to think that it might have ceased. That sort of behaviour was just asking for trouble – it tempted fate, or rather the Force. Yes, it would be a good move on Anakin's part if he just gave up flirting with his master altogether.

Obi-Wan had to admit, at this point, that he was doing a spectacularly unsuccessful job of convincing himself that he hadn't enjoyed the attention.

He sighed to himself as he passed through the front doors of the Temple and crossed the hall to the elevators. Of course he'd liked it, on some level. He was in love with Anakin, hopelessly and achingly in love – it made him happy to know that he was loved in return. It was as simple as that. Unfortunately, other things complicated the issue.

"Something on your mind, Master Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan glanced around. Niniane had appeared by his side, evidently wanting to catch the same lift. He'd barely registered the presence of another person near him, let alone identified her. He'd been too occupied thinking about Anakin.

He smiled at her. "Nothing that can't wait. How are you, Niniane?"

"Exceptionally well, thankyou, Obi-Wan. May I call you Obi-Wan?" she added, but he sensed his permission was only a technicality.

"You certainly may, Niniane," he said graciously, and she grinned at him, knowing that he saw through her. "Is there anything in particular responsible for your remarkable state of well-being?"

"Oh, the usual," she said, waving a hand nonchalantly as the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside. "A successful mission, a quick and painless debriefing, and the knowledge that Xi-Lin is making my favourite meal for dinner tonight, and possibly breakfast tomorrow. He's very good at 'cooking', you know." She winked roguishly at Obi-Wan.

It took him a moment. "…Oh! You and Xi-Lin are…"

"Yes! Since the day before yesterday." Given that Niniane was nearly thirty Galactic standard years old, she was behaving remarkably like a giddy teenage girl. "I'd been dropping hints for _quite_ a while, and was beginning to think he wasn't interested. But it turned out he was just waiting until he passed the trials."

"Well, congratulations," said Obi-Wan, smiling, "both on your union and on Xi-Lin's knighthood." Niniane had always been the distributor of gossip rather than the cause, but it looked like she would at last have something of her own to talk about. Obi-Wan wondered whether this might limit how much she gossiped about other people.

"So, is Anakin good at 'cooking'?"

No such luck.

"He can make a few simple dishes," said Obi-Wan, ignoring Niniane's insinuations and assumptions. He knew that if he denied his interest in Anakin, or Anakin's in him, she would see right through the deception. "But for more complicated meals it's best if he has help."

The elevator slowed to a stop at their floor and the doors slid open. Niniane's eyes were on Obi-Wan as they started down the hall to their respective apartments.

"Qui-Gon Jinn was the first person you 'cooked' with, wasn't he?" she asked. Although she hadn't had much to do with Qui-Gon, being only a young apprentice at the time, one of the gossip pieces about Obi-Wan she'd picked up had concerned his relationship with his master.

"Yes, he taught me a lot," said Obi-Wan, not shortly or angrily, but indicating that it was not a subject he cared to be flippant about.

"Sorry," said Niniane contritely. They paused outside her apartment door and she hesitated for a moment before continuing, "I was just going to say … I'm happy for you. It's good that you can … 'cook' … with someone else, after all this time."

Obi-Wan had reached his tolerance of her innuendoes and metaphors. "Qui-Gon isn't the reason Anakin and I aren't together," he said flatly, and Niniane's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I'm sorry, but that particular subject is between myself and my apprentice."

"Oh – but the way you two—" With difficulty, Niniane stopped herself. Demurely, she said, "I'm sorry for intruding, Master Kenobi. I apologise if I've upset you."

"I'm not upset," said Obi-Wan, in a gentler voice. "Don't worry about it, Niniane, you weren't intruding. Just … Xi-Lin's probably waiting for you." He took a step backward, concentrating on keeping his features passive.

"Right. Yes, I should probably go." Niniane opened her apartment door. "I'll … see you later then."

"Yes, later."

Obi-Wan waited until the door closed behind her before turning and marching back to the elevator. He called a lift, waited with forced patience until the doors opened, then stepped inside and pressed the number of the floor with rather more strength than was necessary.

Calm through meditation, he said to himself. Release your anxieties into the Force. There is no passion, no tension, only serenity.

But he got off the elevator at the training level anyway.

Considering his level of agitation and the effort he had to expend to keep it under control, Obi-Wan could have been forgiven for not noticing who was nearby when he entered the gymnasium. And it wasn't as if they were even in the same room – there were two walls and a dozen Jedi between them. Nevertheless, both Obi-Wan and Anakin were immediately, instinctively aware of each other's presence, and gravitated towards one another like sharks to molecules of blood in the sea.

Obi-Wan didn't try to act casual as he perused the rack of wooden training sabres. He waited, a relaxed immediacy of patience like an alert feline, loose and ready to respond quicker than instantaneously. His touch was light over the sword hilts, but he was able to slide a sabre from its housing and meet Anakin's downward slash between one half of a heartbeat and the next.

"You almost left it too late, master," Anakin remarked, the wooden blades sliding slowly against one another an inch from each Jedi's nose.

"One day you'll appreciate efficiency over effort," Obi-Wan answered reasonably, and looked into Anakin's glowing blue eyes and felt alive.

The sabres, being made of wood, were unable to make the sort of suitably dramatic _tzing_ that only very, very sharp tempered steel is capable of producing. But, as Anakin and Obi-Wan sprang apart and their swords scraped against each other, the atmosphere supplied it.

"I know you've been practicing since the last time we sparred," Anakin said conversationally. "I'll make sure to give you a proper test."

"As always, your consideration for others is humbling," Obi-Wan replied, knowing his expression was utterly opaque.

Anakin moved like a born predator as they circled onto the mat, his upper body perfectly still while his legs made every step an attack stance and his balance remained aggressively perfect. Obi-Wan knew his padawan's style as well as his own. The boy should have been an ancient hero, or a warrior god. He carried himself like divine wrath personified, exuding adrenaline with each breath, every nerve and sinew designed for battle. He had eyes like the apocalypse and a smile like irresistible adventure.

The opening sequence always played out the same way – Anakin, eager to the point of impatience, would wait only until Obi-Wan was in the middle of a step, when his balance was at its weakest, before pouncing. He'd begun to develop his own fighting style, collected from a number of attack-based forms, and honed and perfected it against Obi-Wan. He always took the initiative, and Obi-Wan always waited for him and fought defensively.

But today was different. Today, Niniane's remarks were hovering in his mind, buzzing around like a bee so he was keyed up, on edge, and his whole body chafed. He remembered sparring with Qui-Gon and 'cooking' afterwards, and although he missed his master like he'd been wounded and would never heal, every part of him ached to be with Anakin. Qui-Gon's warmth had been like gentle summer sunshine, but Anakin's was the white-hot intensity of the star itself. Obi-Wan adored him to the point of pain, but even now he was restrained by the longer love of the Jedi. His confusion and frustration alerted him to the present, to the here-and-now, to Qui-Gon's Living Force, and so he attacked.

A look of surprise crossed Anakin's face as Obi-Wan lunged with a driving upwards stab and he was nearly too slow in parrying. He automatically stepped backwards and sideways, but Obi-Wan had been expecting this and met him halfway with a roundhouse sweep. Anakin blocked clumsily, his reactions seeming to stumble and trip over each other as he attempted to turn the next block into a counterattack. Obi-Wan brushed the attempt off without a thought and pressed forward again.

He couldn't have adequately explained why he was acting so out of character. A combination of many things reacted with each other in physical and psychological alchemy, transforming cool, calm Obi-Wan Kenobi into a restless beast. He felt like a werewolf, stirred from rational humanity by the siren call of something more primal and instinctive. Past memories and present dilemmas bubbled and simmered under his skin.

"Keep up, Anakin," he said, as his sabre caught the flying tip of his padawan's braid.

Anakin's eyes narrowed and Obi-Wan could see him shift into a higher gear. Neither of them spoke. They didn't need to. Each could read every sign in the other's body language and projected thoughts, and the gloves came off. The potential for all-out, no-holds-barred warfare lurked at the core of their sparring every time – it was what gave fighting with Anakin an edge Obi-Wan never attained with any other partner. Now the cloak of restraint and discipline was peeled back, exposing the wild magic beneath, and the werewolf came howling to the surface.

They came together in a flurry of blows, so fast the thought was hardly swifter than the action. They clashed and fought like an intricately choreographed dance, with the speed and fluidity of a well-oiled machine, except that the dance was of war and the oil was blood. Instinct drove them, stormed through their limbs and veined, but was tempered by a core of steel forged through countless hours' training and long familiarity with their opponent. Obi-Wan felt possessed, but by himself.

He and Anakin danced and strode across the floor. The exchange was more even now, a trade in attacks and parries as Anakin recovered ground lost to Obi-Wan's initial assault. Obi-Wan could feel habit prompting him to defend, to let Anakin call the shots and dictate the moves, but fought free of its comforting familiarity and pressed the definitive attack.

The frustration woken in him by Ninane's blithe assumption was controlling his limbs, making him step forward and strike out against his opponent. He could not lose – if he was defeated by Anakin now, he might as well give up on the Jedi Order, succumb to the explosive attraction between them and throw away everything he'd dedicated his life to. He refused to do that – he'd be stronger, he had to be.

Obi-Wan hardly knew how it happened; one moment they were sparring, the next Anakin's hands were empty and his sabre was clattering to the mat six feet away. Obi-Wan's sword was at his padawan's throat.

"You win," Anakin rasped. He was out of breath, his shoulders moving as he gasped in air. Sweat shone on his forehead. A few wisps of hair had come free of his braid and curled as though the air was humid. "Master? You win," he repeated, and Obi-Wan realised he was staring.

He drew back the sabre and tore his eyes away from Anakin. He could feel his pulse in his ears as he crossed the mat and returned the sword to its housing, and in the aftermath of fading adrenaline had to concentrate severely to stop his hands from shaking.

Anakin was asking him questions with his eyes. Obi-Wan hesitated, before averting his gaze and saying, "You need to work on your defence." He left the training hall.

The elevator ride seemed longer than usual, and the corridor stretched until his apartment was half a klick distant. He paced its length mechanically, his legs moving of their own accord; he was unsure whether his mind was numb or overburdened with thoughts.

The apartment was like a home from childhood, one he'd left behind long ago and just returned to. He automatically went to the kitchen and began rummaging in cupboards, distantly considering what to make for dinner. He found he couldn't remember whether he liked spicy Arrakeen stew, but knew for a fact that Anakin rated it as one of his favourites.

When the pot was on the stove, the stew simmering, Obi-Wan sat at the table, hands folded together. He rubbed his thumbs against one another absently, but otherwise was still.

I love Anakin, he thought, and sighed.

I can't love Anakin. It's forbidden by the Code. Love leads to jealousy – hate – the Dark Side. If we consummated it, it would dominate us. I'm committed to the Order; it's who I am. I won't go against the Code. I can't love him…

…But I loved Qui-Gon, and nothing bad came of that. We always did what was necessary; nothing ever came before duty. Maybe … if nothing happens with Anakin … maybe I can control it. I'll have to keep my guard up – no more flirting, no more gossip, no more teasing. I'll defend myself, put up barriers. Keep my distance … away from him … away from Anakin…

The stew boiled over, and Obi-Wan blinked the mist away from his eyes so he could save their dinner. Once more, he noted, he was cooking alone. But that was just how it had to be.


End file.
